Going Home Through Hell
by Vampiresswolf
Summary: It's July, 1349, and the Black Death takes it's next million victims. Percy just wants a way to save his friends and family, but is losing his soul really the way to do it? Will the dark devil keep his promise or will Percy lose everything as well as himself? For Takara's Nicercy Summer contest.


Going Home Through Hell

_A/N: Hey everyone! I know, I shouldn't be starting another fic when I have the others still to go about... But this one's special! It has a reason to be put up now! Ans that reason is because it is one of (and the longest of) my entries for Takara's Nicercy Summer contest. So yeah. It is multi-chaptered and I am really not a very talkative person, so I'm gonna let you over to the story! Let me know how you like it (or if you don't, completely up to you)! Enjoy!_

Ch. 1

Percy peered out of the window of his apartment with a sigh. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do about what was happening out there. Another body cart, pulled by a depressed wench, headed out into the woods, where they would be laid to rest alongside a thousand others, a mass grave for the unfortunate people who died.

It had started not long ago, in June of 1348. They did not know how it spread so fast, they did not know why, and they did not have a cure. Many things were said to help prevent it, but from the massive amount of those who perished every day, he was certain that the cures and preventatives were just hoaxes. No onion, no candle, nothing could stop it.

It was said that the infernal plague takes three forms. In the first, people suffer an infection of the lungs, which leads to breathing difficulties. Whoever has this corruption or contamination to any extent cannot escape but will die within two days. Another form, in which boils erupt under the armpits, a third form in which people of both sexes are attacked in the groin. In men and women alike it first betrayed itself by the emergence of certain tumours in the groin or armpits, some of which grew as large as a common apple, others as an egg. From the two said parts of the body this deadly disease soon began to propagate and spread itself in all directions indifferently; after which the form of the ill began to change, black spots or livid making their appearance in many cases on the arm or the thigh or elsewhere, now few and large, now minute and numerous. As the gavocciolo had been and still was an infallible token of approaching death, such also were these spots on whomsoever they showed themselves.

Percy sighed and turned to those who slept inside of his house. There was his mother and stepfather, who were both such kind beings that they had taken it in upon themselves to harbor all of the orphaned children of the plague. Percy was unsure if this was because of their love of children, or simply because they believed that if they harbored the orphans that God would spare them.

There also were the orphans. Jason, a blonde, blue eyed boy and his sister Thalia, black haired and blue eyed, they had been among the first to be taken in, alongside Annabeth, whose parents had suffered among the first to die. She had such calculating gray eyes, her blonde hair commonly pulled back as she sat even now, the only other person besides himself, awake, at a desk, pouring over sheets. She was certain that if only she could find the cause of this disease, she could help.

There also were Travis and Connor, two brunette, brown eyed thieves that had lost both of their parents. They were very mischievous, but the thieving tendencies had been lost when their parents were carted away. They lay close to one another, curled together as protective as always.

A bit farther over was Leo, an impish boy whose father died of the disease and whose mother set herself on fire in order to not have to see her son die. He was Annabeth's right hand, creating all of the knickknacks she thought up. Beside him lay a beautiful girl known as Calypso. Calypso was actually of noble blood, but had come rushing from the castle crying when the disease had made it through. She was pretty useless, actually, but his parents would never just leave her to die.

As if that wasn't enough, there was Frank, a refugee from China, a giant lug of a boy, and a petite dark-skinned girl named Hazel. Piper was of caramel skin, a gypsy by blood, lost her parents through not a disease, but by slaughter.

Then there was his baby brother, curled up in his crib. His brown locked curling so innocently that it made Percy want to cry. The black death wouldn't leave him even if it too the rest of the family, for it did not discriminate. There were a lot of toddlers carted away, tossed into the carts alongside the teens, adults and elderly. Tyson would die if they died, and he may die even if they didn't.

His attention was taken to Annabeth, who had stood, rubbing her temples, "You should get some sleep, Percy." She said.

"So should you, but here you are." He retorted.

She looked at him with world-weary eyes, "I cannot, not yet. I must go out and get some marigold flowers. I think they might be the key to the fixture of this antidote I wish to try and make, with Will's help, of course."

Will was a son of a healer. They lived next door, and so far had not been affected by the pain either.

"You have not slept in days, Annabeth. How about I go retrieve your flowers, and you sleep?" He led her over to her cot next to Piper, stroking his hands through her ponytail as he took it from her hair. Her eyes were drooping, but she tried to resist, "I will bring them, I promise." She gave a sad sigh, but nodded, turning over on her side to sleep.

Once she was out, Percy stood, grabbing a basket nearby, and peering at his friends and family with a frown and a stressed forehead. The only place to get marigolds was a clearing in the woods. He knew the place well, but he also knew that it was possible the clearing had been destroyed, dug up as another burial mound.

He made his way out of the cottage and sucked in his breath, for the stench of death had overtaken every nook and cranny of the town he called home. He hated the desolation that was around, and as he watched, the men and women who had brought the last cart out drug it back inside. If they made it through the night, they would begin again to collect those who had not.

He made his way through the streets, so many abandoned houses littered the way, not a candle lit. A mouse nibbled on a piece of rice that had been left on the ground outside of one, and he couldn't even bring himself to shoo it away. The mouse looked up at him, but went back to its meal. Even it knew that the humans could do nothing.

The woods were dark, and so silent. Normally the sounds of crickets, owls, and other night creatures would permeate, but the smell of death had driven them all away, for what sane creature would want to stay in a place where the top predator couldn't keep itself alive? What chance did they have?

He exited the shadows to the silvery light that just barely quilted the ground of the marigold clearing. It had a proper name, of course, as it was used as a ritual ground for the archbishop as of late, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. The trees littered the ground with broken shadows, the day glory flowers closed and the night glories bloomed here and there, interspaced with poppies and the bulbous yellow, orange and red heads of the marigold. It seemed downright wrong to have such a place of beauty among all of the death and destruction.

Percy collected a basketful of the orange flowers, being careful to keep them intact, and to not disturb the others. He brushed against one, and the telltale stench wafted out. He frowned at it. The stench no longer seemed significant compared to what was going on in the city, but he couldn't help but compare the delicate flower to the dying. The thing was of beauty, the stench only came out when it was disturbed, when it had been taken by a hand, or a claw, a hoof or a gust of wind, and moved from its place of comfort. Just like the humans.

He sighed and sat down once the basket was full, under the shadows of an ancient oak tree. He lifted one particularly small marigold from the basket and sighed, thinking of his family.

He did not realize he had dozed until he was jerked awake by a whisper of a sound, and when he looked up, there was a cloaked figure.

"Are you come to kill me?" he asked it, and its head tilted, releasing a hint of pale skin.

"Me? I come for souls of the damned, of the wretched and misfortunate and the evil. If you are of this category then the answer would be yes."

"You are insane." Percy said with a sigh, looking back down at his delicate flower.

The shadowed figure gave a chuckle and turned, sitting on a low branch of a neighboring weeping willow, it seemed appropriate, "You intrigue me."

"What?" Percy looked up, a frown on his face, peering through the darkness in hopes of getting a glance of the figure sitting there. He could make out nothing beyond the cloak, not even a hand poked through.

"What is a healthy bloke like you doing in a flowering field at the witching hour?"

"I am collecting flowers for a friend, as you can plainly see." He gestured to the basket that sat beside him. He was unsure why this shadowy figure was standing there. Unsure even more why he hadn't moved to leave, instead sitting there and talking to what could very well be a masked assassin, from the way he spoke.

There was a dark 'Mmm' from the cloaked figure, "Why would you be doing that?"

"She wishes to find a preventative and cure for the blackness that kills our town, and believes that these flowers would do well to help her."

He chuckled, a scary and dark sound, "Well, I wish her fortune, but a flower is unlikely to help. What about you? What would you do to help the town?" his voice seemed to take on a darker undercurrent.

Percy frowned, "To be honest, I do not care about the town. I care for my family, my friends."

He could make out a flash of white where the cloaked figure sat, as though he had grinned, but it was gone soon enough, "So you wish to save your friends and family?"

"Of course. My parents think that God will be merciful if they take in the orphans, and though I commend them, I believe it puts my ever growing family in danger every time they do. I am not sure whether it really helps."

"You consider those that your parents take in as your family?" His tone was curious, but laced with something dark.

"Of course I do. I will consider every person they ever take in as family. I just wish I could save them from what i just know is coming through this plague's entrance."

"So you would do anything to save them?" He asked, his voice poisoned-laced honey.

"Yes. I would do anything, but I feel there is nothing I can do." Percy sighed, tossing the marigold back into the basket and clenching his hands together tightly.

"What if I told you there is a way?" The cloaked figure asked.

"I would ask you to give me your secret, of course." He sighed.

"I could save your friends and your family." He said, a thoughtful tone filtering through his voice. He stood up from his place on the branch and began to make his way closer.

"How?" Percy stood too, not wanting to be in a weak placement on the ground.

"You would have to give me something, and I could ensure their survival."

Percy frowned, wondering where this was going, and why he was even considering it, as this guy was likely just bluffing, "What would I give you? I have no money, nothing you could want."

"Oh, but you do. I care not about money, riches, or material wealth. I care about something much more… substantial." by this point the cloaked figure was right in front of him, a pale hand took hold of his chin and turned it left and right.

"I am no eunuch." he stated, fear beginning to filter through his senses, sensing where the cloaked figure was going with this, "I will not give you my body."

"It is not your body I wish."

"Then what is it you seek of me?"

That flash of teeth again, "I wish for you to join my group, of course."

Percy frowned, "What group is that? How would I join it?"

"Oh, just a little thing. However, if you join, you can never get out of it, but if you join my club, your friends and family will be safe from the disease. All I ask is that you sign your soul over to me, per say."

Percy thought about it, not even noticing that he never answered as to the title of the club he was to join. He frowned a bit at the wording, signing his soul, figured it was just a phrase of speech, and then nodded, "As long as my family is safe, I will join."

The grin was back, "Excellent." There was menace in the voice, and the nails in his chin clenched slightly rougher in his soft skin, "What is your name, young one?"

"Percy Jackson."

He made a 'hmm'ing sound and then looked at him again, "Is that your true name?"

"No, just a nickname. My full name is Perseus."

"Very well. Do you sign your soul to me?"

Percy chuckled, this guy was really about this soul thing, "Sure."

"What?"

"Sure I will. I, Perseus Jackson sign my 'soul' over to you. Um, who are you anyway? you never told me your name?"

The moment he finished his statement there was a dark crimson glow, and he felt like he had been socked in the stomach by some super force, leaving him weak.

"I am Nico di Angelo, Perseus Jackson." The grin was back, and the cloaked figure lifted his hood. Percy could only blink at what was under the hood.

He had pale olive skin that matched that of his hand. His eyes were such a dark brown they looked nearly bottomless and black, and his raven hair drifted down to his ears in midnight locks of what made Percy's stomach drop were the pair of dark crimson blood red horns peeking out among the hair.

"Congratulations, you have joined the souls of my Devil's Club. Your family and friends will be safe." With that, he melted into the shadows.


End file.
